'It's that or the hospital gown.'
'What about my human rights?'
'What about the cop you shot?' said O'Connor.
'I didn't shoot anyone,' said Macdonald.
'We'll start with your footwear,' said Peddler. She removed his trainers and socks, and placed them in individual brown paper bags with polythene windows. Then she helped him off with his jeans and put them into a bag. She took a marker pen from her jacket pocket. 'Name?' she said.
Macdonald said nothing.
'He's not saying,' said Kelly. 'But we'll get the full story once we've run his prints through NAFIS.'
Macdonald took another sip of coffee. A check through the National Automated Fingerprint Information System wouldn't help them identify him. His prints weren't on record. Neither was his photograph. But there was no point in telling them that. There was no point in telling them anything.
Peddler scribbled on the bags, then put down her pen. She took off Macdonald's leather gloves and bagged them, then O'Connor undid the cuff so that she could take his shirt and jacket. She put them in separate bags, sealed them, picked up her pen and scribbled on them. 'You can keep the underwear,' she said, handing him the paper suit.
Peddler swabbed his hands and put the swabs in separate plastic tubes, each of which she labelled. She also took his wristwatch. 'You haven't printed him, then?' she asked Kelly.
'He was brought straight here. We'll scan him at the factory.'
'I'll take my own set now,' said Peddler. 'Give me a head start.' She inked Macdonald's fingers and took a set of his prints. Then she handed him a cloth to wipe off the surplus. 'I need a DNA sample for comparison purposes,' she said. 'It's a simple mouth swab. As you haven't been charged, I need written permission from a superintendent before I can insist. You can give me a sample willingly now or I can catch up with you later.'
'Take what you need,' said Macdonald. His DNA wasn't on file.
Peddler wiped a swab inside his mouth and sealed it in a plastic tube. 'Right, that's me finished,' she said. She went off with the case in one hand and the bags of clothing in the other.
'What happens now?' asked Macdonald.
'We take you back to Crawley for more questioning,' said Kelly. 'You're charged, we bring you in front of a magistrate and then you're banged up until trial, assuming you don't get bail. And I think it's pretty unlikely that any judge is going to let you back on the streets.' Kelly stood up. 'You finished your coffee?'
Macdonald drained his cup and the two detectives escorted him through A and E. Nurses, doctors and waiting patients craned their necks to get a glimpse of him, then quickly looked away. The paper suit rustled with every step and his bare feet slapped against the linoleum floor. Macdonald had a throbbing headache but he didn't know if it was as a result of the blow to his head or the tension that had cramped the muscles at the back of his neck. Police, court, then prison. He smiled grimly. This was definitely not how he'd been planning to spend the next few days.
Macdonald was driven to the rear entrance of Crawley police station and taken into a reception area where a bored uniformed sergeant asked a series of questions to which Macdonald replied, 'No comment.'
The sergeant, a big man with steel grey hair and horn-rimmed glasses, seemed unperturbed by Macdonald's refusal to answer any questions. He asked Kelly if he was going to interview the prisoner immediately and Kelly said that they'd talk to him in the morning.
'What about a solicitor?' asked the sergeant. 'Is there someone you want us to call?'
Macdonald shook his head.
'Do you want to see the duty solicitor?'
'No, thanks,' said Macdonald. He knew that the sergeant wasn't offering out of the goodness of his heart, simply following police procedure. Macdonald was in the system and everything that happened from now on would be covered by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. They'd play it by the book, one hundred per cent.
A young constable removed Macdonald's handcuffs and took him over to a desk where there was a machine like a small photocopier without a lid. The constable made him place his right hand on the screen and pressed a button. A pale green light scanned Macdonald's palm and fingers. Then the constable scanned Macdonald's left hand. The Livescan system would run his prints through NAFIS within minutes, but they would come back unmatched.
Then Macdonald was taken into another room where the constable took photographs, front and side profiles, and returned him to the reception desk. Kelly and O'Connor had gone.
The sergeant asked Macdonald if there was anyone he wanted to phone. Macdonald knew of at least half a dozen people he should call, but he shook his head.
'You do understand why you're here?' said the sergeant.
Macdonald nodded.
'You're going to be charged with some serious offences,' said the sergeant. 'I don't owe you any favours but you really should talk to a solicitor. The duty guy can advise you without knowing your name.'
'Thanks,' said Macdonald, 'but no thanks.'
The sergeant shrugged. 'I'll need your watch and any jewellery.'
'Forensics took my watch, and I don't wear jewellery,' he said. He'd taken off his wedding band two months earlier.
'You were examined by a doctor?'
Macdonald inclined his head.
'Did he say you needed any special attention, anything we should know about?'
'No. But I could do with shoes.'
'There's a bell in the cell. If you feel bad - dizzy or sick or anything - ring it. We can get the duty doctor out to see you. Had a guy die a few years back after being hit on the head. Bleeding internally and nobody knew.' He called the constable over. 'Cell three,' he said, handing him a card on which was written 'NOT KNOWN, ARMED ROBBERY' along with the date and time. 'I'll see what I can do about footwear,' he said to Macdonald.
The constable took Macdonald down a corridor lined with grey cell doors. He unlocked one and stood aside to let Macdonald in. The room was two paces wide and three long with a glass block window at the far end, a seatless toilet to the right, and in the ceiling, protected by a sheet of Perspex, a single fluorescent light. There was a concrete bed base with a thin plastic mattress. Two folded blankets lay at the foot. The walls were painted pale green. Probably Apple White on the chart, thought Macdonald. The paint was peeling off the ceiling and dozens of names and dates had been scratched into the wall, along with graffiti, most of which was along the lines of 'All coppers are bastards.'
The constable slotted the card into a holder on the door. 'Don't put anything down the toilet that you shouldn't,' said the constable. 'The sergeant gets really upset if it backs up. And if he gets upset, we get upset.'
'Any chance of some grub?' asked Macdonald.
The constable slammed the door without replying.
'I guess not,' said Macdonald. He picked up one of the blankets. It stank of stale vomit and he tossed it into the corner of the cell. He sat down on the bed. The floor was sticky and he swung his bare feet on to the mattress, then sat with his back against the wall. He'd slept in worse places. At least no one was shooting at him. The light went out and he sat in the darkness, considering his options. He didn't have many. He was in the system now and all he could do was ride it out.
Without a watch, Macdonald quickly lost track of the time. Light was streaming in through the window when the door was unlocked and a constable, a different one from the previous night, handed him a plastic tray that contained a bacon sandwich and a paper cup of tea with the bag still in it.
'Sarge said I was to ask what size your feet are,' said the constable. He was in his late twenties, tall and thin with a slight stoop. He looked more like a librarian than a policeman.
'Ten,' said Macdonald.
The constable started to leave. 'I could do with a shower and a shave,' said Macdonald.
'We don't have any washing facilities,' said the constable. He left, slamming the cell door.
Macdonald took a bite of the sandwich. The bread was stale and the bacon was fatty and cold but it was the first thing he'd eaten in twelve hours so he wolfed it down. The tea was lukewarm and sweet.
